


Here

by harryhermionerw



Series: Imagine Tony & Bucky [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Tony Has Issues, Tony Stark Doesn't Like Being Handed Things, bucky helps, imagine prompt fill, not really much to tag this as?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 15:45:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11809122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harryhermionerw/pseuds/harryhermionerw
Summary: Tony doesn't like being handed things. No one told Bucky that.





	Here

**Author's Note:**

> Borrowed this prompt fill from the Imagine Tony & Bucky tumblr:
> 
> Imagine Bucky being the only one on the team able to handle things to Tony. Maybe the team (or pepper) realize before Tony, and Bucky not understanding why it’s a big deal (or on the contrary Bucky being really proud and happy, he is the only one)…. Yeah anything about Tony trusting Bucky to handle him things… 
> 
> I wrote this in approximately two hours and only just glanced over it, I really just wanted to post it.
> 
> Please assume that Steve told Tony about his parents, Ulton never happened, blah blah blah. I'm not quite up to trying my hand at a post-CW fic yet.

_ “Here, sign this.” Tony barely gave the piece of paper a glance before signing it. Two days later, the media exploded with more inflammatory pieces about the Merchant of Death’s latest sale. _

 

Pepper only tried a few times over the years. She learned quickly about his quirk after Afghanistan. Later on in their partnership, it happened only when she was very stressed and tired. “Here,” she said, barely aware of what she was doing, holding out a folder. 

Tony stared at it, willing his hands to move up to accept it. He  _ wanted  _ to take it from her, she looked so tired and worried, but he couldn’t make his fingers close around the paper. Guilt colored his tone. “Just put it on the pile with the rest, Pep.”

She looked up at her hand as if it was flipping off the Pope. She knew better than to apologize, that only made Tony feel worse. She tossed it onto the pile, then deliberately stretched. “Let’s eat. How about Thai food?”

 

_ “Here.” Papers were pushed into his hands. “This is a summary of what the military needs,” Obie said. Tony glanced down at the papers, his mind already spinning off into designing what was needed. No one reported on the fact that six months later, the people that the military were fighting had the same weapons. _

 

Rhodey only tried once, after Afghanistan. He held out a paper bag containing something that smelled like heaven. “Your all American cheeseburger,” he said, in that tone of voice he had been using since he had found Tony. “And fries.”

Tony reached out for the bag, but his fingers trembled so badly he couldn’t take it. 

Both of them knew it wasn’t because of his injuries.

“Tones?” Rhodey asked, very carefully.

“Just-” Tony began, fisting his hand and pulling it back to his lap. “Just put it on the table.”

 

_ “Take this.” A new weapon Tony had invented. “Show it off at the press conference today.” Tony did, and the press went wild when the same weapon was found in enemy hands. Tony didn’t notice. _

Natasha had never tried. Then again, she had been sent to spy on him. Even if he hated the beginning of their relationship, he was grateful he never had to explain it to her, with halting words and pitying looks, like he did to Rhodey and Pepper.

Clint was just as good as Natasha, considering he was the one who brought her in, and only tried once, offering his bow to Tony. While Tony froze, trying to figure out how to say  _ no I can’t I won’t nonono  _ Clint’s face went through several emotions in those few seconds. “On second thought,” Clint said, slinging the bow onto his back, “can I just come down to your lair to help? SHIELD hates it when I do that but,” he shrugged. “I always wanted to learn how the trickier arrows were made.” Tony let out a silent sigh, embarrassed. But if Clint was willing to overlook it, Tony would take the out like a drowning man and a life preserver.

“Come on, Katniss,” he said. “If I get too complicated let me know.” And he started in on the exploding head arrow, translating the technical jargon to words he figured Clint would understand as they walked towards the elevator.

 

_ Here, someone insisted. Tony barely looked, too interested in alcohol and partying and sex. He ended up with more red in his ledger with that signature. _

 

Bruce was never comfortable enough to offer things to Tony outright at first, and by the time he was, he knew better. “I left some mild muscle relaxers on your lab table,” he said, as they passed each other. “That hit you took today has got to hurt.” 

Tony smiled at him, although the skin around his eyes were tight with pain. “Yeah,” he said, holding himself stiffly. “Thanks, Brucie.”

 

_ Here, here, here. People insisted that he take things, and he wasn’t paying enough attention. Not until a bomb blew up in his face. _

 

Thor didn’t quite understand why his shield-brother didn’t take anything from other people’s hands, but perhaps it was a strange Midgardian quirk. When he asked the all knowing voice JARVIS, the voice replied by saying some people were like that, but most were okay with being handed things. If he could just refrain from handing things to Sir, please Prince Thor.

He refrained, even when he wished to share his newest flavor of Pop-Tarts.

Steve, strangely, understood without explanation. When Tony hesitantly asked about it, if he thought it was strange, he replied easily. “I saw a lot of things in the war, Tony. This?” He gestured to the plate of food that he had brought down to the lab and placed on the table. “This is hardly strange to me.”

He smiled a little crookedly, and a little sadly. “Besides, I slept for seventy years and woke up in the future. Nothing could be strange.”

 

_ “I didn’t pay enough attention, Yinsen,” he said. “I should have looked at what they gave me.” _

 

No one thought to tell Bucky about it. They had all lived with Tony for a few years, and no one gave it a second thought.

For weeks, Bucky refused to come out of his room, and only let Steve in after the first week. No one pushed for more, after being tortured, brainwashed, or frozen for almost seventy years. Eventually he came out for short bits of time. A dinner. A movie. A card game. None of these times required Bucky to give Tony something. 

After a while, Bucky ventured out of his room more often. He had his first request, to be called James. He didn’t feel like the old Bucky. He spent time watching reading. Shooting at the range with Clint. Sparring with Natasha. Meditating with Bruce. Watching old and new movies with Steve. Trying new foods with Thor. He and Tony had a wary understanding of each other to avoid each other as much as possible due to his mission report, December 16, 1991. Tony didn’t blame him, but James blamed himself. 

They coexisted. They talked more and more, developing an easy friendship. If everyone in the tower breathed a sigh of relief, well, neither of them acknowledged it. 

Then one day, out of the blue, James appeared downstairs at Tony’s lab door, holding himself stiffly. “Can you-” he gestured towards his left arm. “Tone down the receptors to a tolerable level? It’s been getting worse every day now.”

Tony stared at him. 

James seemed to shrink in on himself. “If you can’t, or don’t want to, or are too busy,” he rushed out, taking a step back. “It’s fine, no problem. I’ve had worse.” He took another step back, and another.

Tony blinked, as James’s words stumbled over each other. Just as James looked like he was going to pivot, he spoke. “No, wait. You?” he paused, looking for the right words. “You trust me with this?” he asked, his voice going high at the end.

James frowned. “Of course I do,” he said, taking a small step towards Tony.

“Oh.” Tony sounded like all the air had been punched out of him. He took a deep breath, then his face lit up into a smile. “How do you want to do this?”

James felt a rush of something before another bout of pain almost brought him to his knees. He locked them. “Ah...” Vague memories of technicians and pain and- He cut those thoughts off. This lab wasn’t sterile, or empty of everything but  _ that thing.  _ This lab was full of life. “Anywhere’s good for me.”

Tony looked around, then gestured towards his office chair that he rarely used. It was soft, comfortable, and most importantly in his mind, spun when he needed a break. “How about there?”

 

_ Tony paid attention after he came back from Afghanistan. He looked through the old news. The old papers he had signed. The things he had just taken without an ounce of care. His hands trembled. No more. _

 

It had been a while since Tony had fixed James’ arm. Frankly, the arm had been a mess but he didn’t know how to change it. It would take several weeks, if not months, of learning about the human body, and how the arm was connected to James’ body in particular, before he could even begin to design. For right now, they would both have to deal with quick tune ups when necessary.

It was a team dinner, and James and Tony were sitting next to each other, like they normally did now. When Tony cleared his plate of the mutton curry Bruce had made, he glanced around to see if there was any left over. There was, in a bowl in front of Steve. He leaned forward. “Steve, pass the curry?”

Steve pushed it towards James, barely taking a break from inhaling the curry. He, James, and Bruce ate a truly embarrassing amount of food.

James picked up the bowl and held it out towards Tony. “Here you go,” he said offhandedly, deep in conversation with Clint about sniping.

Everyone froze and went silent as Tony took the bowl without a second thought. “Thanks,” he said, re-filling his bowl before turning towards Bruce to continue  _ his  _ conversation about their new project, only to see everyone staring at him. “What?” he said, self consciously. “Do I have something on my face?”

Bruce was the first one to break the silence. “You,” he trailed off, looking at Steve.

Natasha took over. “You took the bowl from James.”

“Oh.” Tony looked down at the bowl, then over at James.

James looked confused. “Of course he took the bowl from me?”

Looking helplessly between them, Steve tried next. “He doesn’t take anything from anyone.”

“What?”

Tony looked mildly embarrassed, which meant he was hoping the earth would swallow him. “It’s a, a thing. I don’t... I don’t like people handing me things anymore.” He shrugged, trying to play it off. “After, you know.” He swallowed. “After Afghanistan.”

James looked like someone had struck him. “But you took-”

Tony looked down. “Yeah, I guess...” He looked at everyone at the table, then back at James. “Can we maybe not do this in front of everyone?” He looked pained.

Everyone immediately busied themselves with eating, and the rest of dinner was a quiet affair. Tony was up like a shot as soon as he was done eating, and James was out of his chair a half a step behind.  Tony sighed, then motioned towards the elevator. “My lab,” he ordered.

 

_ Everything he needed to sign went into a pile, and he read every word. Every press conference, while still seemingly off the cuff, was planned out. Tony vowed he would pay attention now, but he wouldn’t just take things anymore. _

 

Tony sat in the office chair and absently spun around once. Before James could open his mouth, Tony started talking. 

“Before Afghanistan, I was...” he paused, looking for the right words. “I didn’t really care about much. Obie-- Stane, I mean, he just put papers into my hands knowing I was too busy looking for my next drink, my next fuck to pay attention to what was on the paper. He probably could have signed the company over to him and I wouldn’t have noticed, but he needed me as a fall guy, as the ideas guy, probably.

“In any case, I never looked at what was in my hands, or right in front of my face until a bomb blew up in my face. Until Afghanistan. They told you about that, right?” Tony asked, finally looking at James, his eyes dark.

James only nodded, unwilling to interrupt Tony.

“Well, I had a lot of time to think. When I wasn't being tortured or making the first suit, I mean. And when I got back, after the... situation with Stane, well, I had some time to look at everything. I wasn’t going to not pay attention ever again. And that sort of translated into not being able to take something from people.

“Not won’t, James, but can’t. I can’t even take files from Pepper or food from Rhodey, and I’ve known them since  _ before.  _ It’s just... a, a thing.” He shrugged helplessly. “It’s not that I don’t trust them, or Steve or Bruce or Nat or Clint or Thor, I just...” he trailed off.

Reaching out, James offered his hand to Tony. Tony gripped it with slightly shaking fingers. “You don’t have to put words to it,” James said slowly. “We all have our  _ things. _ You know I can’t let anyone but Natalia handle certain panic attacks. Steve will only show Bruce certain paintings, and Bruce only shares his tea with Steve. You don’t have to know why. Sometimes... it just is.”

Tony’s hand gripped tighter, and he leaned forward until his forehead touched James’. “Thank you,” he whispered.

 

_ “Here,” James said, offering a small object. Tony took the box and opened it. His mouth dropped as his startled eyes met James’. “Will you marry me?” _

**Author's Note:**

> The POV is a little weird, but I think the mostly observer third person works for this. And I stole the idea of alternating between 'here' and 'regular timeline' from a different fic but for the life of me, I can't remember what it is? If anyone knows it, let me know, I'll be glad to credit that.


End file.
